


Finding Home: In Which a Snobbish Mage Discovers that She has the Capacity for Human Emotions

by TheBrandenRose



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: and other characters of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22100293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrandenRose/pseuds/TheBrandenRose
Summary: Elisa Marie never asked to be thrust into the middle of Skyrim's dragon problems. She also wasn't fond of the band of mercenaries she found herself having to rely on unless she wanted to be tossed out to survive the oppressive cold and over-sized creatures of Skyrim. All she wished was to be left alone. Unfortunately, this wish wasn't meant to be, as she began to discover that her interest in a certain Dunmer was, for once, beyond fulfilling her own selfish goals.(Title is a work in progress. I've written three chapters so far. It will more than likely change.)
Relationships: Athis/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. The Start of a Very Miserable Day

**Author's Note:**

> After a long hiatus from writing due to personal issues (thanks PTSD), I decided to give it another shot. I'm a bit rusty, but hell I'm having fun with it. This is a pairing I've wanted to write about for a long time. Hope you enjoy!

There was nothing special about Elisa Marie, save for the fact that she thought herself incredibly special. But perhaps not meddling in the doom of Skyrim special.

Dragons. Of all the things that had to go wrong today, it had to start with dragons. One moment, her head was perched on the chopping block, waiting for the bite of the axe that would end her life. The next, a dragon swooped onto the tower in front of her, filling the air with smoke and fire. At least the dragon had saved her head from being departed from her body. Silver linings and whatnot. And now here she was, standing in the middle of Whiterun, her gaze fixed upon the heap of stone and wood the Nords called Dragonreach.

She sighed. Perhaps she shouldn’t have run away from her family, a dream she’s had since being raised among Breton nobility. Better yet, perhaps she shouldn’t have involved herself in a trade deal with that fetcher Khajiit. Had she known that the shipment of ebony was stolen from one of the local mines in Morrowind, she wouldn’t have ended up on that blasted cart and narrowly escaped being dragon bait. And now she was sent to tattle to the Jarl that a dragon had suddenly popped back into existence and would make a startling appearance at his town’s gates very soon. She regretted ever setting foot into Skyrim.

As she sauntered towards the stone steps leading to Dragonsreach, she contemplated for perhaps the eighth time about turning around and walking the opposite direction. It was the most sensible option; no one would stop her. She hated Skyrim, with its oppressive cold and jagged moutnains. She hated Nords even more, their culture backwards and unrefined. And yet… Where else would she go? Morrowind was in ashes, and running back to her family, well. Let’s say she’d rather bathe in a river of slaughterfish. Her only options were to continue up the steps, or backtrack into a land more hostile and uninhabitable than the swamps of Black Marsh. And she was rather fond of soot-free air.

_There at least better be a reward_ , she thought. _Or at least a warm bed_.

She shivered, holding her arms tight against her abdomen. _By Azura, do I miss being warm_.


	2. The Jarl of Whiterun: In Which Elisa Learns that Nords Aren't Fond of Sarcasm

Dragonsreach was more impressive than Elisa initially believed. A large square firplace sat in the middle of the hall, with tables full of different assortments of food and mead huddling on either side of it. Chandeliers hung above them like clouds, decorated with what appeared to be hoarker tusks. She’d never encountered one, but she’d heard they were as vicious as mountain lions, and their skin twice as tough. In any case, she was impressed that Nords could make their halls presentable.

As she made her way past the fireplace, she passed a child of maybe ten sitting at one of the tables. He watched her with about as much interest as watching two flies mate.

“Another wanderer,” he said, his voice dry and unimpressed, “come to lick my father’s boots.”

Elisa paused mid-stride. It took every fiber of will in her body to not swing around and throw a fist in the center of the boy’s eyes. Instead, she looked over at him and replied, “Watch your tongue, young man. It may put you in an urn one day.”

The boy scoffed. “Whatever. All you types talk the same. I bet you wouldn’t last a day in the wilderness before a sabre cat ate your face off.”

Elisa approached him, bending her knees so they were eye level. “And I bet you wouldn’t last a second without your daddy wiping your backside.”

She patted the brat on the head, which made him jump out of his chair and take a step back, face twisted in disgust.

“Nice try, though.”

With that, Elisa left the boy scowling at her back as she continued towards the Jarl’s throne. As she made her way up the steps, a balding, dark-skinned Imperial greeted her.

“I’m sorry, but the Jarl is very busy. I’m afraid-”

“Oh, he’ll want to hear what I say, whether he’s busy or not,” Elisa said, brushing him aside. He stared at her as she approached the throne, his jaw hanging in shock.

“O’ Great Jarl of Whiterun,” Elisa said, her tone loud and mocking, her arms open as if she were addressing the entire room. The Jarl - a middle-aged, blonde-haired Nord - looked up from the conversation he was having with a red-haired Dunmer who looked about as friendly as a nix-hound.

“You’ll have to pardon the interruption,” Elisa continued with the same mocking tone, “but I come bearing some rather grave news.”

The Jarl and the Dunmer gave each other bewildered glances.

“I’m sorry, Balgruuf,” the balding imperial sputtered as he rushed towards the Jarl. “She wouldn’t listen when I-”

“It’s alright,” Jarl Balgruuf said, waving a hand. He narrowed his eyes at Elisa. “By Talos, who in Oblivion are you and what are you doing here?”

Elisa sighed, wishing she could skip the pleasantries. “Well, if you must know, I’m Elisa Marie, second daughter of Duke Anton Marie, a name I’m sure eludes you completely. But no matter. I’m here to inform you that Helgen is no more. A dragon burned the place down and is making it’s merry path of destruction towards your town as we speak.”

No one spoke for a solid five seconds. They all stared at her as if she had suddenly combusted before their eyes. Elisa wished she could combust. It’d save her the trouble of having to deal with this oaf of a Lord. If only she could find a way of combining invisibility with a fireball spell…

Finally, Jarl Balgruuf stood up.

“A dragon?,” he said, “And it destroyed Helgen?”

“Did I stutter?”

Balgruuf’s expression turned sour. “One more sarcastic word, and I’ll have Irileth throw you out by the collar of your robes. Talk seriously. You expect me to trust what you’re saying without proof?”

“That,” Elisa replied, “is entirely up to you. But given that I’ve seen the dragon with my own eyes, I’d say you’d have until tomorrow morning to see the evidence yourself.”

Balgruuf sat back down on his throne and turned to the sour-looking Dunmer by his side. “Irileth, I trust your judgement in others. What do you make of this?”

She gave Elisa a solid look-over, her slanted, hawk-like gaze scanning her head to toe. Elisa shifted her feet. She wasn’t bothered by many things, but this Dunmer was making her sweat. Granted, most Dunmer weren’t known for their jovial personalities, and growing up in Morrowind, she wasn’t a stranger to the dourness of Dunmer social exchanges. This one, however, could make an ash vampire faint just by glaring at it. She looked away, pretending to be fascinated with a spot on the ceiling far above her while the Dunmer continued her scrutiny.

“She’s about as shady as a Khajiit with a dagger behind its back,” Irileth said, her red eyes narrowing to slits, “but, I don’t think she’s lying.”

Balgruuf furrowed his brow, pondering. “Why were you in Helgen?” he said to Elisa. “How did you see this dragon?”

“Why, I had a lovely view of it while my head was on the chopping block.”

The Jarl raised an eyebrow. “Well, I see you’re not hesitant to share your criminal past.”

“A misunderstanding, nothing more.”

“Right…” The Jarl shared a sideways glance with Irileth. “Well, if what you’re saying is true, then we best prepare for a defense before this dragon arrives.”

Elisa nodded. “I’d say that’d be a smart decision. In either case, my part here is done, and I best be going. Good luck with your dragon troubles.”

She turned to leave.

“Not so fast.”

Elisa rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Balgruuf, but as enjoyable as our chat was, I’m afraid that I must take my leave. But you have fun though. I hear the only way to pierce a dragon’s hide is with, well, nothing that you have in your current armory.”

“As insufferable as you are, I may still have use of you.”

She turned around, thoroughly annoyed. “You seem to have enough to fund an army,” she said, gesturing at the opulence of his hall. “I doubt you need me.”

“As it so happens, my men are in short supply and could use an extra body.”

Elisa crossed her arms. “And I’m supposed to care because…?”

“Because,” the Jarl said, leaning forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “there’ll be gold in it for you.”

She pondered for a moment. “How much?”

“Er… 200.”

“Make it 500, and we’ve got a deal.”

“Fine, whatever. Just be back here at sundown so we can discuss our next move.”

Elisa bent to make a ridiculous curtsy that made both Irileth and Balgruuf scowl. “As you say, my Jarl.”

As she shut the doors to Dragonsreach, Irileth turned to Balgruuf.

“Are you certain that was a good idea?” she said.

“Absolutely not,” he replied.


	3. No Vacancy: In Which Elisa is Forced to Join a Band of Mercenaries for a Place to Stay

“Sorry, no rooms available.”

“What? How?” Elisa said a little too loudly. The rest of the inn glanced up at her with vague curiosity before returning to their flagons.

The innkeeper, a rather thin Nord woman, shrugged. “We got a Redguard woman who’s holed herself in here for days, a mercenary from Cyrodiil, and a man who claims he’s a traveling jester, if you can believe that.”

Elisa gave her an incredulous stare. “So what am I supposed to do, sleep on a bench? Don’t you have a cellar I can plop down in for the night?”

The innkeeper shook her head. “Afraid not. Look, if you’re that desperate, I’d speak with the Companions up in Jorrvaskr. If they take you in, your bed is free.”

“The Companions?” Elisa said. They didn’t sound like a bed and board. Plus, joining them sounded like she would be committing herself to whatever three ring circus they were running. She ran her own circus, with acts involving setting anything that tried to bite or chop her head off on fire, growing her coin purse through whatever opportunities were tossed her way, and stretching the distance between her and her family as much as possible. And it was ran independently.

“Mm-hmm,” the innkeeper replied. “They’re one of Skyrim’s longest standing mercenary bands.”

Elisa gestured to her mage’s robes. “Do I look like a mercenary to you?”

The innkeeper paused for a moment, giving her a once-over. “Admittedly no. Can you swing a sword?”

“Of course I bloody can,” Elisa replied, annoyed. Dueling was one of the most common methods of settling disputes between houses and the first art taught to Breton children growing up in noble families. Plus, sometimes there were situations where magic was the weaker option, like the time a crazed Ashlander nearly gutted her in her sleep back in Morrowind. She’d been welcomed by an Ashlander tribe after days of traveling to Ghostgate, not knowing that a few of them were superstitious xenophobes who distrusted strangers. Fortunately, her ebony dagger was less than a hand’s reach away, which she slid neatly between the Dunmer’s ribcage before he could lay a finger on her.

“Then you shouldn’t have any issues joining. Their hall is just up the steps to the right once you leave.”

With that the woman began busying herself with washing the counter of her bar with an old rag as if the conversation never happened.

“Anything else you needed?” she said without glancing up. Clearly at this point the woman had enough of their exchange and Elisa wasn’t going to get another word about a room to stay in out of her.

Elisa rubbed her face, thoroughly annoyed and exhausted at this point.

“Some Breton wine, if you have it,” she said, tossing a few gold coins from her purse onto the counter. “I need something strong after this headache of a day.”

* * *

Elisa stepped up to the doors of Jorrvaskr, a longhouse with a roof that looked like an overturned boat. Two dragons curled upward from either side, facing off with perpetual snarls. Elisa sighed, wondering what Daedric Prince was toying with her. Never had she expected to enter a Nord mead hall of her own volition. But, unless she wanted to spend a night in the Skyrim cold, she didn’t have many options.

 _This may, perhaps, be the worst day of my life_ , she thought as she swung the doors open. What awaited her inside was a full-on brawl.

“Are those two at it again?”

“Quit swinging so wide, you’ll make yourself more vulnerable!”

“My bet’s on Njada. After the way she felled that bear the other day, I wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

A small gathering was formed in a half-circle around a Dunmer man and a Nord woman who Elisa guessed was Njada beating the piss out of each other. It seemed the fight had been going for a small while, judging from the cuts and bruises on both of them.The Dunmer made to land an uppercut at Njada’s jaw, but whoever shouted about the Dunmer swinging too wide was right. Njada easily sidestepped to avoid his fist, causing him to stumble. She took the opportunity to grab and pull him close to her, slamming her knee into his groin. The Dunmer howled, collapsing to the ground and curling into his abdomen. Njada stood over him, flashing a triumphant sneer.

“Best two out of three,” she said, wiping a small amount of blood from a cut on her lip. “Looks like you’re polishing the armory this week.”

The Dunmer coughed. “Fetcher,” he wheezed.

“Quit being a baby,” she said as two of the others began helping the Dunmer to his feet. Other than some minor cuts and bruising on his face, the man looked alright. As he steadied himself, he glanced up to see Elisa standing a few feet away. Seeing her made him snarl and spin to face Njada.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, his face inches from her’s. “Pick up a sword and we’ll see who ends up on their ass.”

He shot Elisa one final glare of daggers before storming down a flight of stairs, out of sight.

 _How charming_ , Elisa thought, as the group disbanded. _And so very typical…_

It took a moment before a burly Nord from the group noticed her and approached. When he came close enough for her to study his appearance, Elisa almost scowled. His face was a mask of dirt that sunk into the creases gathered around his eyes and mouth, his hair an oily, dark mop. She thought he’d been punched in the face twice, but upon closer inspection, she saw that dark warpaint framed his eyes like bruises. If he hadn’t been wearing a very regal set of armor, she might have mistaken him for a beggar.

“Vilkas,” he said, introducing himself. Despite his disheveled visage, his voice surprisingly soft. “If you want to hire, you’ll have to speak to Skjor. He handles that.”

“Actually,” Elisa said, smiling to hide her disgust at his appearance, “I was told you provided room and board?”

Vilkas shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Only Companions are allowed to stay in Jorrvaskr.”

“Ah,” Elisa replied. “So it’s like that, then. Not to worry though, I have a solution for both of us."

She fiddled with a loop on her belt and presented her coin purse, waggling it as if she were enticing a dog with a bone. Vilkas crossed his arms, scowling.

“What if I were to give you, say, a hundred,” Elisa said. “You let me stay, and I fatten your wallet.”

She was lying, of course. Given that most of her savings had been taken from her before being put on the cart hurtling towards her execution, plus the exorbitant amount she spent on that rotten trade deal that landed her there, she had maybe twenty gold after the few coins she shoved at the barkeep for a bottle of wine. But, if the Jarl was good on his word, she’d have five hundred coins to add to her deflated wallet. And if he wasn’t, well, after shoving a fireball down his throat, she would be, as the Dunmer said, “as fortunate as a netch born without limbs”.

“I wouldn’t let you stay here even if you were the Queen of Solitude with gold spilling out your backside,” Vilkas replied, eyes narrowing. “Do you see any barmaids around? We’re not an inn. Is there something you actually came her for, or are you here to waste my time?”

Elisa reattached her coin purse to her belt, sighing. Bribery seemed to get you nowhere here compared to Morrowind. Her last resort was clear, and she was certain it was going to bite her in the ass later.

“Fine,” she said. Her voice was calm, but inside she was imagining all the ways she could set this hall on fire. “How do I join?”

Vilkas gave her a surprised look. “You serious? After that stupid ploy you just pulled? You’re either mad or an idiot. Or both.

“Plus,” he added,eyeing her mage’s robes, “you don’t seem the type.”

Elisa gritted her teeth.

“I was told this was a good place for work,” she said, her smile growing with her impatience. “I’m a long ways from home and could use the extra gold.”

This time it was the truth, but it might as well have been a shovel that was digging her deeper into this pit she tossing herself into.

_To Oblivion with this godforsaken town, this fetcher of a Nord, that innkeeper bitch…_

Her internal list of profanities continued while Vilkas was silent for a moment, watching her with suspicion. “Aye, it is,” he said, nodding. “But you won’t last long here without some knowledge of handling a blade.”

“I wouldn’t have survived the duels among Breton nobility if I didn’t know how to wield one.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, giving her another look-over, retaining his dubious gaze. “I have a lot of questions, but we’ll get to that later.”

He looked back over his shoulder and shouted, “Athis!”

Athis, the Dunmer in the brawl earlier, came rushing up the steps near them, flashing Vilkas an annoyed look. “If you’re expecting me to polish every damn weapon and piece of armor again for the third time this month, you can-”

“Shut it,” Vilkas snapped. “Grab your sword. You’ll be testing her arm.” He nodded at Elisa.

Athis looked like he’d just been insulted. He glared at Elisa, then back at Vilkas.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “I’ve seen mudcrabs that looked tougher than her.”

“You’re one to speak after getting your ass beat by a whelp who joined a month ago.”

Athis replied with a look that could kill a bear, but said nothing.

“You get one chance,” Vilkas said to Elisa, handing her a sword from one of the racks on a wall nearby. He pointed to the doors on the opposite side. “We’ll meet out that way. And don’t dawdle. I don’t have all day to wait on newcomers.” Athis flashed her a look of disdain before stomping behind Vilkas out the doors to whatever shoddy training grounds they had.

As they left, Elisa glanced down at the sword in her hands. “Shit”, she said aloud to the empty hall of the Companions, which, if this Nord approved of her sword play, she would potentially be sharing with a band of dirty, sweaty mercenaries.

 _If I ever run into that Khajiit_ , she thought, gripping the sword’s handle tighter as anger bubbled in her gut, _he’s going to Oblivion with his tail shoved in his mouth and a knife up his ass_.


End file.
